Five Little Ladybirds
by gonewiththeslush
Summary: Ciel's cousin whom he had hardly met before, Asteria, suddenly appeared, orphaned and about to receive her title of Countess. A mystery unveils about the Secret Forces in nobility, Ciel and Her Majesty the Queen. And a battle of wit and power began.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer! the lovely characters do not belong to me, but Yana of course! Enjoy!**_  
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_Five little ladybirds, climbing on the door  
One flew away and then there were four.  
Four little ladybirds, sitting on a tree  
One flew away and then there were three.  
Three little ladybirds, sitting on a shoe  
One flew away and then there were two.  
Two little ladybirds, looking for some fun  
One flew away and then there was one.  
One little ladybird, hiding behind the sun  
One flew away and then there was none…._

_There was none._

_What's this rhyme that keeps replaying in my head, _Lizzie thought. Elizabeth Midford looked out the clear panes of the high French windows, decorated with graceful sweeping curves and bunches of carved marble fruits, in the wide dining room of the magnificent Midford mansion, out at the grey, rainy sky.

The Midford family, being the leader of all knights in the Kingdom "where the sun never sets", in the year 1894 under the reign of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, enjoyed as vast and lavish estate as would be expected of such a high-ranked English noble family bloodline.

But they were, in fact, more than the typical English nobility; along with the Phantomhive family as well as a few others in the empire, these are the people considered by the few who knew them as "the secret service of Queen Victoria"; and the vast majority of common folks, who while not knowing them were nevertheless struck awed by their aura of superiority, that soft, luring smell of resplendent lives lived beyond the wildest imagination – to them, these people are known as…

"_the lofty, dangerous and beautiful."_

Lizzie Midford sure was beautiful. At 14, she had great moist eyes of the lightest shade of green, which seemed always on verge of revealing something delightful or divulging some "awful" secret, as she would have put it; luxurious blonde curls which she always took care to have arranged in bunches of gleaming, cascading beauty; a slender figure, nimble feet, swift fingers. Combined with Lizzie's adoration of the latest fashions of laces, silks and velvets, she was an ideal image of the "spoiled noble child" living the forever untroubled dream life.

Yet Lizzie's mind was far from untroubled, this gloomy morning. Her body ached from the intensive sword-fighting training she had received yesterday; she was worried about the whereabouts of her papa, who had been dispatched off to an errand in the middle of the night; and to top it all off, to match the gloomy weather, there was this gloomy nursery rhyme playing and replaying in her head, like the sob of a broken musical box.

_Five little ladybirds, climbing on the door…._

A soft, melancholy voice, childish voice in fact if not for that tinge of unmistakable sadness, was singing it, singing it. Lizzie was positive she had not heard that voice before, in her conscious memory. _Who_ on earth could it be, she thought, gazing into the depths of the smudged grey sky.

Four little ladybirds, sitting on a tree…

The smudged, grey sky. Sky, sky, _Ciel._ There was a reason why Lizzie loved watching the sky so much, because it was the namesake of the one and only boy to whom she gave her heart ever since she knew she had one, and to whom she was, in fact, going to belong to, for the longest time of forever.

Yes, Lizzie thought, and her heart seemed to swell with warmth; together, forever.

_Three little ladybirds, sitting on a shoe…_

How Lizzie loved le ciel. Especially on certain crisp autumn dusks, when the sky was the calmest and brightest hue of indigo, because it reminded her of his eyes – or, eye, after that time he returned three years ago – crisp, bold, dangerous yet somehow not lacking grace at the same time. She could lose herself in the depths of this indigo, completely, timelessly.

_Two little ladybirds, looking for some fun…_

I wonder what he's doing now, Lizzie thought, with a little sadness as she always felt when it came to Ciel Phantomhive. She had an idea he was not as fond of her as he had been before; in any case, he became a lot more secretive, defensive, even, after…_that time._ Her heart ached to know what she had done wrong, whether she had done wrong, how to put wrong to right.

_One little ladybird, hiding behind the sun._

A pair of small arms, softly cradling her shoulders. A low, crooning voice, lined with love. Dark mahogany floor, dignified sweeping crimson curtains. Singing, _and then there was none…._

"_Terry! Terry! Dinner now!" Footsteps closing. "Oh my, what have you been singing to Cousin Lizzie!"_

"_Just nursery rhymes, Mommy." Sweetly. "Coming now! C'mon, Lizzie, it's shepherd's pie…"_

Lizzie's eyes flew open. She suddenly remembered that person, that voice, the soft, childish, broken voice.

She had not seen her in such, such a long while.

A polite, muffled knock behind. Lizzie turned around and the footman bowed low. "Invitation, Miss Elizabeth. From Earl Phantomhive. Lady Asteria had come for a visit, and wishes to see you."

* * *

"Cousin Asteria." Ciel Phantomhive surveyed the woman – a girl rather, seventeen-year-old and just dawning on adulthood – before him with his calm sea of a blue eye. "Good to see you….after all this while. Sebastian, serve tea."

"Yes, my lord." Sebastian tilted clear honey-coloured liquid into the cups with the customary elegant touch. "Top Ceylon green tea from the Assamese stock, across the Atlantic, freshly brewed." Sebastian bowed low. "Please enjoy, Lady Valnagh."

"Thank you," replied the lady in question gracefully, tilting the cup to her lips, while the almost inanely large, pure white Persian cat in her lap purred a delighted agreement. Sebastian paused for a fraction of a heartbeat, staring into the cat's wide, amber eyes, before bowing low again and retreating to his master's side.

"So, Cousin," said Ciel again, watching the girl before him; he had decided at long last that she was as yet a girl. Sunlight gleamed off Asteria long dark lashes as she blinked and smiled. She was leaner and gaunter, and much taller, when he had last seen her, Ciel thought, but her dark mahogany curls were just as abundant as they used to be. But then again, Ciel had never been close with Asteria, and it had been such a long time since they met, with so much happening in between, that he could hardly remember her existence. "It has been a long while," he said.

"Certainly, a very long while," Asteria smiled, watching the boy opposite her as keenly as the gaze she had been subjected to, except hers was masked under long coal-black lashes. Ciel had nearly outgrown the blue in his hair; it was now almost distinctly raven-slate; almost. His demeanour had become a lot colder, a great deal more grown-up.

The Phantomhive duties…. Asteria was familiar with them. She cocked her ears to listen about the empty mansion, once so full of life. So _that _had happened to him too, huh, she smiled and sipped her tea. "Well, well, my dear boy has become an earl now! So much has happened, indeed."

"I hope you all are well in Belgium," said Ciel. "Send my regards to Great-Uncle, Uncle and Aunt Valnagh, of course. I have neglected my duty by failing to visit you all, yet…my time could not permit that, regretfully." Ciel shrugged. He was hardly concerned with the welfare of this extended family; rather, merely wondering about what _exactly _Asteria had come to him for.

"That would be hardly necessary, I'm afraid," Asteria replied with a smile so beautifully tragic that it was sweet, and Earl Phatomhive was taken aback. _What…? _"Grandfather had passed on one year after we settled down in Belgium, and my parents both deceased recently." She sipped her tea again, the brim of the ceramic cup shading her eyes.

"I am very sorry," replied Ciel, with deep concern in his voice. He could feel Sebastian twitched in a silent snicker behind him, and he slapped him mentally. Sebastian knew Ciel couldn't care less about the deaths of his relatives, having gone through what he had been through; shock and curiosity, rather, were brimming over. The Persian cat meowed lazily, blinking her amber eyes at Sebastian, who gulped.

"Her name is Fainche," Asteria said suddenly, breaking the silence. She gestured towards her lap. "She has been such a comfort, on this journey here. She and I are hardly separable." Fainche stretched contentedly as if in recognition of her own importance, and slowly scratched herself. _What a sudden change in topic, _Ciel thought. Instead, he said,

"Ah – a loyal companion is always welcomed," with a sidelong glance in Sebastian direction. Asteria watched the pair with interest. Ciel Phantomhive, orphaned, with a pitch-black butler…

"BANG!" the door opened and Lizzie Midford burst in with her full array of flounces and flourishes, Snake's announcement "Lady Midford arrives" being barely audible. "Terry!" cried Lizzie, flinging her arms about the older girl's neck. Ciel remembered, with a wince, that the Midfords were always a great deal closer with the Valnaghs than the Phantomhives. So why had Asteria chosen to come here…..? "How I have missed you! Oh, why haven't you been back even once?"

"Belgium is far, far away, darling," Asteria cuddled the blonde girl lovingly. "But I've come now."

"Why didn't you come to our house, then?" accused Lizzie. Ciel was amazed, as always, by his fiancée's rare bursts of intelligence.

"I was afraid….certain persons might find me a cause for.… _inconvenience_," Asteria's reply was not really what Ciel expected, though. Fainche purred again, seeming to mock.

"What do you mean by that!" cried Lizzie. "I know Mommy and Daddy would be absolutely delighted! Mommy especially always _adored_ you so!" She sat up with sudden energy. "Let's go back to my house now! C'mon. We'd have tea and biscuits, and I'd have a few dresses made for you in the latest British style…." Lizzie said, eyeing the foreign laces and patterns with obvious distaste. "Yes – dress-making is just the thing! And Brother isn't here to spoil it either. Perfect!"

Fainche meowed. Asteria stuttered, "Ah – uhm – sure, later – maybe not now –"

"Maybe Lady Valnagh would like to settle whatever business she had come to see Young Master for first," suggested Sebastian smoothly, surprising everyone by this sudden reminder of his existence. Fainche turned her eyes on him again and he lost his train of thoughts.

"Ah, sure, certainly," smiled Asteria. She cleared her throat, and silence suddenly floated in the room.

"My father, the Count Valnagh, had wished on his deathbed for me to continue his unfinished work, the part of which needed to be done in Belgium being completed. As such," Asteria said smoothly, "I have come to settle back in Britain and to inherit the title, as well as its work. I have thus a matter to request of you, Earl." She turned to Ciel. "I believe you are still in correspondence with Her Majesty, given the nature of your work." Ciel blinks. "I would appreciate it deeply if you could notify Her Majesty of my arrival in Britain, and my intention to receive the title. Also," she smiled. "You have rebuilt your household from scratch, Earl Phantomhive. Now I am embarking to do the same. I would like us to be on friendly terms in future." She bowed lightly.

"Certainly, my lady," Ciel said without missing a beat.

"Thank you, very much."

* * *

"How did you find her, Sebastian?"asked Ciel as the heavy oak door shut with a dull thud, deeply immersed in thought. _Something's not right._

"First – she's this cousin of mine that I've hardly met before in my life. Now she comes back to Britain from Belgium, and the first thing she does is to find me.

"Second – she knows about _that time_.

"Third – her _work._" Ciel furrowed his eyebrows. "Valnaghs…an ancient line of nobility; they…do _different _things as well." Ciel closed his eyes and light floated on his eyelids. "I can't remember, Sebastian…Sebastian? Are you listening?"

The butler in question was staring off into space. "She was beautiful, though."

"Beautiful, huh," Ciel scoffed. "I guess you could say that, in a way, but…_is that really something you should be noticing now?_"

Sebastian did not appear to have heard, however. "Those eyes…..so big, so clear…..she is clearly a pampered girl, that long, silky fur…"

The cat. Ciel closed his eyes. Sebastian was talking about _the bloody cat._ _Of course._

"Speaking of which, I'm allergic to cat fur," Ciel remembered suddenly. "Yet I hadn't sneezed even once, just now. I wonder….."

A polite knock. "A letter for Young Master, says Oscar," said Snake in his voice as scaly as his skin. Ciel took the letter from the platter. The royal signage. He read it carefully.

"Poison in the Royal Palaces," said Ciel to the Sebastian who cocked his head quizzically, relieved that his butler's mind was finally cleared of the Persian cat, or any animal in that particular species. "Unspecified source, could be Underground. And the worst – someone has gotten wind of it. Rumours are circulating all over London of how the Royal Family are dying off, one by one." _Reputation of Queen Victoria was at stake._

"Sebastian, get Lau immediately."

"Yes, my Lord."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine! Please review I would really like feedback to my story, of any kind :D thanks so much!**

* * *

The room was large and airy, with a vaulted marble ceiling and sleek slated floor. The woman who sat at the handsome desk paused in her work, fingering a sheet of letter delicately. She was stout, rather past her middle age perhaps, yet her grey eyes had by no means lost their shrewdness, or that gleam of something more which could not be found elsewhere. Her face was gently lined and graceful. A thin circle of gold laced through her greying hair.

"Interesting," she whispered, and chuckled delightedly, examining the letter by the play of light. The seal on the envelope said "Phantomhive". "So…five little ladybirds, and…one had come home."

"Grey." A tall figure bowed its way out of the shadows by the door. "I hope you have been doing your work."

"Certainly, Your Majesty," Earl Charles Grey's smile was duly humble. He bowed his head.

"What date, then, had…..Lady Valnagh returned to us?"

"The 19th of this month, Your Majesty."

"Excellent." murmured the Queen, lifting a crisp piece of fresh paper and scribbled with an elegant hand. "Of course...of course."

The room was silent as the fountain pen scratched across the paper. The Queen leaned back and sighed.

"Phipps," another tall form bowed out of the darkness. "Lady Valnagh's decoration for the title of Countess will be within this month. See to it."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

A twinkle of merriment started in the Queen's eyes. "Ah, but it does make me feel young to be playing with children once more. And such _delightful_ children, as well, don't you think?"

The Queen's butler's bowed in unison.

* * *

"Oh my, but isn't your great day coming along quickly," drawled the woman, leafing lazily through the letter covered in the Queen's writing. She was reposed on the handsome leather couch, as handsome as herself; her hair was a wild shade of snow, and her eyes remind one of the swirling golden breezes of autumn. "Countess...indeed." the woman mimicked a small curtsey.

"Shut up," said Asteria crossly, snatching the letter from the woman's hands. It had been rather an object of anxiety for her. Getting decorated was a big thing, a _really big _thing, and her mind was troubled by worries of all shapes and sizes, the top of which was…

"I have no idea what to wear," growled Asteria. She glared at the woman. "So."

The woman merely yawned. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not like, your personal butler or something, you know. Your welfare – anything about you, in fact – is of no concern to me."

"A butler! How I wish," muttered Asteria. "Or a French maid or a footman or a cook or patissier or _anything_!" She narrowed her eyes in irritation. Why hadn't she gotten an all-knowing, omnipotent genie to become something more useful? Right now, Asteria was faced with the gargantuan tasks of starting and managing a household, employing people, catching up with her father's work, branching out on London social networks, continuing her education all by herself, and above all these, she had to find a way to groom herself in the fashionable style of the nineteenth century nobility. It sure wasn't easy.

"A bargain was a bargain," drawled the woman, examining her nails. "I'm way too.. _delicate_, to be a servant."

"Speaking of which," Asteria smirked, "You sure have taken a fancy to that Phantomhive butler. Oh, don't lie to your mistress!" she said as the woman started. "Your eyes were all over him. Say, how d'you find that guy?"

"Nice figure, gentle manners," the genie snickered. "Charming eyes. Like rubies on fire. But no, my little mistress, I was staring at him for another reason entirely." She leaned suddenly towards Asteria, so close she could smell her breath, smoky as dense perfume. "_Would you care to know why?_"

Asteria stared into her eyes for a moment, before pulling away. "No, I would not. Not another one of your little secrets."

"Oh, but are you sure?" the genie persisted, her voice low and alluring. "I'm sure here's something you would be interested in. Something," she paused, "you would _need_ to know. _Vital_, in fact, for your…goal."

Asteria was busy sifting through the papers stacked on her table, and did not pause to consider. "No, thank you. Maybe later."

Fainche plopped back onto the couch. "I'm hungry," she complained. "My sole purpose in staying with you was so that I'd be fed, you know. Regularly. Don't you remember?"

"I'll get Peter to buy more cat food later," said Asteria sarcastically. Peter was the new footman hired yesterday. She frowned; _I must remember to get rid of him by next week. Awful taste and bad breath._ "Also, I was under the impression that you stayed with me because you'd like to be groomed and pampered over and _really_ fed, and because you liked me."

"Fair enough, fair enough," said Fainche, her eyes half-closed. "Egoistic, humans are." She murmured, seemingly to herself, "But the butler, ah! He was something else entirely."

Asteria smiled. "I still think you fancied him."

"Silly girl," scoffed Fainche. She rolled over to face her. "Listen, later when you're interviewing the servant candidates, watch out for my signal. A noble household with a name as ancient as Valnagh calls for especially talented servants; these are things a little girl like you wouldn't know."

"So you're helping after all," Asteria mused. "Why so kind?"

"I guess I do like you," replied the genie sleekly, reclining back down again.

* * *

Ciel passed the Queen's letter to Sebastian. He closed his eyes.

"Valnagh's decoration is next week; the last day of March."

"Arsenic," reported Sebastian. "An abnormally large stock had disappeared from the Underground. Last seen early March."

"Someone hoarded it." Ciel chuckled darkly. "Who would hate the royalty this much, huh."

"A bigger problem is how they managed to get the poison inside the palace." continued Sebastian smoothly. "Into the royalty's food, especially."

"Have you read the Queen's letter?" Ciel's eyes flickered impatiently.

"Yes."

"We move next week." decided Ciel. "The ceremony would be a perfect reason to investigate the palace, and...certain persons, as well." Ciel's mouth curled. "Make necessary preparations, Sebastian."

"Yes, my lord."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi everyone! I've edited (well added on to) this chapter, sorry for the changes! hope you enjoy this! and please review haha.**

"Well, here goes nothing," whispered Asteria to herself as the solemn music swelled under the vaulted ceilings of the great hall. She walked steadily with her head held high, clad in an elaborate gown of rich dark purple velvet adorned with a single violet feather, towards the throne of the Queen. In front of Her Majesty she knelt low.

"How adorable," whispered Lizzie to Dores, a mellow old lady of eighty who had been since two days ago the new Valnagh housekeeper. "How _absolutely gorgeous_. To think of all our effort of the past few days, oh! She looks – I don't know, she looks –"

"Good enough to eat, dear," nodded the old lady sagely. "Good enough to eat." Fainche, curled up in her lap, meowed in contented agreement.

"Oh, darling," crooned Lizzie in delight, caressing her snowy fur. "You must be so proud of your mistress too, aren't you?"

Fainche's amber eyes flickered, and but for the fact that she was a cat, one would have thought she was rolling her eyes in response. "Aw, how cute!" Lizzie giggled and clapped her hands softly.

_Womenfolk who can't shut up, _thought Ciel, hearing whispers carried forward from the row behind. _Or, mostly just Lizzie. My fiancée. Gah. _While he had, literally, grown up with Lizzie, and she was arguably the closest friend he had (well, butlers weren't counted as friends), there are times when he could not repress a shudder invoked by her actions, her words, or the pitch of her voice. And these times occurred too often for his liking. Sure, he was reconciled to the fact of having to marry her later in life – indeed he could not imagine marrying anyone else – and sure, there were times when a primal instinct to protect her and possess her, against all odds, seemed to be aroused in him, like that time on the cruise liner Campania, when they were bombarded by unfriendly zombies… but, well that didn't stop him from getting a teeny weeny bit _irritated_ by his fiancée's presence.

Ciel turned his attention on the decoration ceremony. It reminded him of his own, and it seemed almost unimaginable that he could be sitting here, sitting through another person's decoration, when his own had been such a short while ago, and etched with so much pain. He glanced sideways at Sebastian, wondering if he was remembering those early days as well. The black butler's face was smooth as a slate, as usual.

Sebastian's expressionless expression snapped Ciel's mind back to business. Yes, he decided, I have more important things to worry about than reminiscence.

"The title that had been thy father's, I now pass onto thee," the Queen's murmur somehow found its way into the ears of the furthest seated audience. "Use it well."

Asteria rose, and the hall rang with applause. The ceremony was over.

* * *

"No time to lose," said Sebastian quietly, and both master and butler stood. No one else was out of their seats; the opportunity to avoid English high society chitchat was invaluable. They were out of the hall before anyone knew it.

"This way to the royal kitchens," Sebastian showed the way with his hand, utterly composed and unhurried. "It has been arranged for Detective Milton from the Yard to meet us there to explain the investigation thus far."

Ciel's heeled shoes clacked swiftly along the wet tiles of the abandoned corridors, following Sebastian's noiseless footsteps. A few twists and turns took them deeper into palace compounds; hurrying, without haste; a pin dropped, or was it a ragged breath, behind them; both turned instantly.

"Hey," said Asteria quietly. She stood behind them, in full ceremony array, feather and all; the only addition was Fainche, curled around her shoulders like a large furry pillow.

"Countess," said Ciel with a smile as if of welcome. He extended his hand. "I am afraid we didn't have the chance to offer you congratulations just now."

"Thank you," curtseyed Asteria slightly. She blinked. "Earl Phantomhive, my apologies for following you without your permission. However, I would actually like to – "

"Yes, of course," replied Ciel without missing a beat.

Sebastian blinked, an act not missed by Fainche. But if Asteria was surprised, she masked it well. Merely pausing for a fraction of a second, she continued, "Why, then, Earl, your kindness is greatly appreciated."

"Not at all," said Ciel, starting towards the kitchens again. "In fact, if I'm not wrong, this case is pertinently related to your work, is it not?"

Asteria laughed. "Well, I specialize in weapon technology," she said in a tone of confidence, "however, I do believe I have some work to catch up on with medical biology as well. Hence, here I am."

"Directly under the Queen," murmured Ciel.

"Most certainly," said Asteria, giving Ciel a sharp look. "As you, too, are."

"True enough."

Sebastian halted in front of a pair of great, sweeping doors awashed in deep maroon. "We have arrived at our destination," he announced, pushing the door open for the Earl and the Countess.

A wave of warm baked fragrance greeted them, reminding one that there _was_ somewhere a fluffy heaven of bread. "Magnificent," said Asteria quietly. The kitchen was, needless to say, huge and immaculately clean. Neatly lined up were rows upon rows of shining pans, pots, utensils; huge brick ovens piping with smoke; prepared and unprepared food resting in their respective corners. Here and there were sternly professional chefs and assistants going about their daily work.

"What else would you expect?" said Ciel airily. "This, too, is under the Queen, after all."

"Earl Phantomhive, pleased to meet you. Detective Milton." A middle-aged, balding Yard officer was hurrying in their direction. As Ciel greeted him, he could hear dimly Asteria whispering behind him, to the cat perhaps, "Mark my words, we're gonna get a cook like that, by hook or by crook."

"And you, young lady…?" Milton paused questioningly. Ciel introduced her, "Countess Valnagh. She would be investigating this case as well."

"Shall we move into the case proper?" suggested Sebastian.

"Certainly," Milton took out a checkered handkerchief and wiped his gleaming forehead. He apparently found it too sweltering in the kitchens. "Let's start in the sequence of events. On the nineteenth March, evening, Princess Helena experienced severe headache, nausea and confusion. Twenty-fifth March midday, Prince Leopold showed signs of food poisoning too; yet his were more severe, with vomiting and severe diarrhea on top of the previously mentioned symptoms. Finally, twenty-ninth of March, around midnight, Duchess Louise started to suffer from nausea, headache and fever as well." Milton wiped his forehead nervously. "All victims are now recovering; Prince Leopold had been near coma for the past days but was recently out of danger."

"To think so much was going on behind palace walls while I was getting decorated," commented Asteria. "Poor Queen."

"And physicians found the poison to be…?" asked Ciel.

"Most likely arsenic, or something of that sort." He raised an eyebrow. "Lethal – high likelihood of death."

"Yet none occurred," murmured Ciel. "Have any traces of the poison been found?"

"No; well, but that doesn't say much because by the time we investigated, it was well past mealtimes and all of the eating utensils have been collected and washed already. Sources of consumption other than mealtimes have been checked, for example their private teapots and water cups, but nothing was found."

"So the problem lies in meals, then, it appears."

"We're almost certain, yes."

"Wait, wait," Asteria interrupted. "If the poison was administered in meals, wouldn't that make the suspects…"

As of one, the three people, one demon and one cat deep in discussion swung their heads around in slow motion. And discovered, accordingly, that they were not the only ones engrossed in the heated discussion; glittering pairs of eyes were watching them, with intentions by no means friendly.

"No wonder I felt watched the moment I came in," Asteria realized.

"Meow," deadpanned Fainche.

A French-looking man with heavily set shoulders, a round belly, a curled, whisky moustache and a tall chef hat came forward with an extended hand. "I figure it's time we introduce ourselves," he said in a booming voice. "Dupont, Head Chef of the Royal Kitchens. And here is my staff."

Kitchen personnel of all shapes and sizes, wearing ill-disguised irritation, glares and glowers, started crowding in from all directions, giving one the feeling of being cornered. "Paul, Fitzroy, the other chefs" – meaty paws and threatening grimaces; "Lambert, Garcia, patissiers, or bakers" – delicate hands caked with flour; "Harris, Zeuler, kitchen assistants" – dingy-looking and dignified; "Walker, beverages" – slender man with a snicker; "vintner or wine dealer, Reed" – expressionless and white-haired. "Well, that's all of us I guessed."

"You'd expect a lot more people to be in a royal kitchen," commented Milton. "Deal with a lot of mouths to feed, don't you?"

"I see you don't quite understand, Detective," Dupont's mouth curled with amused contempt, "this is the _top_ kitchen here. Only the _top _royalty takes food from us. We don't just feed - _we make art."_

"So it's safe to say that only you have the access to this kitchen?" asked Ciel.

"Yes."

"And all the victims take meals from here."

"Well, yes."

"So….any of you could have been the culprit."

"No, monsieur, that is not so!" exclaimed Dupont. He began agitatedly flailing his arms about. "The thing is, even though this is a royal kitchen, every day we follow a fixed menu for everybody. _Meaning everybody gets the same food._ And the ladies-in-waiting and butlers of the royalty come in random order, so there's no controlling who would get which set of food. In other words…."

"In other words, you can't poison a specific person," finished Ciel.

"Exactement," nodded Dupont.

"Well, what if the culprit had no specific victim in mind?" retorted Milton. "Pardon me, but the poisonings seem pretty random anyway. What if you – any of you – just decided to hit on someone royal, and you add arsenic to _any one serving?_"

That assertion caused an outrage immediately. "You – you – _are you crazy_?" spluttered Dupont.

"Ah, Detective, you sure are smart." said Lambert the baker, with a smirk. He had sleek blonde hair combed backwards, and a cunningly wide forehead. "But you see _everyone who matters_ take food from us. By your deduction, we could have _accidentally murdered Her Majesty the Queen?"_

The severity of this scenario induced even Milton to pause and consider.

"Be-besides," continued Harris the assistant, who seemed by far a warmer and meeker person. "We ourselves take luncheons here as well. There is no way we would let – I mean, how could we –"

"Quite enough," cut in Ciel coldly. "I have two questions. One, is there absolutely _no way_ of identifying which set dish belongs to which person? What about the portions?"

"We dish out the same," confided Dupont in thundering tones. "Anyway, if the Lords and Ladies can't finish they would just throw the food away. So they generally prefer larger portions, regardless of their appetites."

"Holy – what a waste!" muttered Milton under his breath.

"Indeed – as spoiled as three-month-old tomatoes," chuckled Sebastian, with a sidelong glance at Ciel.

Ciel ignored it. "Second – you said that the ladies-in-waiting and butlers could move around freely in this kitchen as well?"

Dupont scratched his moustache. "Now to think of it, yes, they could," he replied. "- but only during meal hours. I mean, at any other time we would surely notice…"

"Thank you, we've already have what we need," interrupted Ciel as sleekly as knife slicing through butter. "Detective, please."

"Oh – ahem – yes," Milton took out his handkerchiefs again. "Next – victims." He indicated the way out of the kitchens. "This way please, Earl and Countess."

Back on wide corridors echoing with their footsteps, Milton wiped his forehead again, "Well, that's that. Not exactly friendly, you'd call them."

Asteria laughed, "Oh, but the _smell!_ I say, chefs that could cook like that are beautiful – _gorgeous._ We _must_ _absolutely _get some kind of chef like that, Fainche."

No one seemed surprised that she talked to a cat except Milton. Ciel said, as a way of conversation,

"Well, not so much chefs, but, ah – the faint aromas of tea were irresistible. I do get tired of the tea at home. Sebastian."

"Yes, Young Master?"

"_There's_ something you could learn and improve on. And later, too – the royalty are sure to have an impeccable taste for tea."

"Definitely, my Lord."

* * *

They set about having tea with the various victims in their respective living quarters, doing quite a fair bit of walking because, of course, the royalty could not be imposed upon to move just because of the Yard. First up was the princess.

"Well, I don't have anything to say," commented Princess Helena airily. "I mean, I fell sick, and then I got better, and that's all. I do hope you would find the criminal though, Earl Phantomhive. This type of people _needs_ to be severely punished."

The princess was young, maybe in her mid-twenties, with blonde hair wound tightly into a severe bun and wide grey, dreamy eyes. Utterly ordinary; only the proud tip of her nose and the ringlet of silver that crowned her head pronounced her royalty.

Ciel asked evenly, "Could you remember what you had last eaten before the first symptoms occurred, Your Highness?"

"Oh – well – I don't know, afternoon tea I would say, since my physicians said my headache started at around six o'clock."

"Your physicians said?" Asteria asked in disbelief.

"It's all in the records – you could go check if you want." Princess Helena said defensively, "I mean, I must have told them – but I honestly can't remember."

Fainche meowed sarcastically at the ceiling. Asteria mused, "Maybe… do you know any reasons why someone would want to poison you? Your Highness?"

"Hmm…Nothing in particular," said the princess ponderingly. "Well, I haven't been much out of palace gates at all."

"And how long had that lasted?" asked Milton.

"Pardon?"

"Well, since when have you not gone out of this place?"

"Since… _forever_," replied the princess with unexpected sternness, and her round eyes grew suddenly abnormally huge. "_Forever and forever…._"

A pause, in which her voice drifted off eerily and everyone was effectively taken aback; then she said in her normal tone, "Maybe except once or twice."

Milton pulled out his handkerchief and set about mopping up his forehead once more; Earl Phantomhive cleared his throat. "Well then, I believe that is all. Thank you very much."

"Prince Leopold is still in rather critical state, and cannot receive visitors," Milton announced as the group reposed in the unprecedentedly grand sitting room of the prince.

"No matter," said Ciel smoothly. "The butler would do as well."

The butler of the prince was a thin man, with a ramrod straight back and flawlessly gentle manners; the ordinary butler that you could causally pick in handfuls out of the market. (Not that human trafficking was allowed, but they did exist if only you knew where to look). In fact, Ciel mused, the exact same butler as that which Sebastian probably appeared to the outside world, if his hair was smoothed back from his face and his eyes were less, well, red. Ciel wondered why a member of royalty would not want a more distinguished butler; but seeing as he was a prince, Ciel figured he probably wanted someone unmatched in efficiency, and who would not outshine himself.

No, the butler replied politely, he did not know His Royal Highness to have any enemies; well, His Royal Highness did run a business outside of the royal family, and were in charge of some government matters, but he was not sure what – something political, he was sure. The last meal before His Royal Highness fell ill was lunch, he was certain. Oh, what did he have? – smoked salmon, baked sausages with gravy, black pudding, as far as he could remember; His Royal Highness took tea as well, he does this with every meal as a matter of habit. Red tea was favourite, His Royal Highness takes it straight. It is so with Your Highness as well? Indeed, an admirable habit of the true nobleman. Why, thank you very much for your concern, I'm sure His Royal Highness appreciates it as well. No, no, no problem at all.

The interview with Duchess Louise, was, by far, the most pleasant one they had today, thought Asteria. A refined lady of middle age, the Duchess was highly patient and extremely willing to aid the investigation. "As long as she could help Earl Phantomhive, the little darling," as she put it.

"So you felt a searing headache just before you went to bed, was that true?" asked Ciel, who apparently enjoyed the encounter much less.

"Precisely that, my lovely cuckoo-bird," laughed Duchess Louise.

A low chuckle escaped Sebastian's lips, and Ciel flushed ever so faintly. Observing their expressions made Asteria suppressed a smile, and even Fainche purred with glee.

"Right," said Ciel, rather flustered. "And your last intake of food before that was…?"

"Supper, I believe; apple tart and milk, it was. Don't you like a warm glass of milk with honey before you sleep, too, Ciel? (I may call you Ciel, may I not? _That's_ a sweetheart!)"

"Indeed, he does appreciate his glass of milk," replied Sebastian with an utterly straight face, while Ciel struggled for words. "Very much, in fact. Do you not, Earl?"

A dark glare from Ciel caused Sebastian to retreat with a bow, but not before smirking covertly.

"Well, well, so," Asteria continued hurriedly to cover the sticky patch, "Do you know of any reasons why anyone would have you poisoned? Any enemies you have, perhaps?"

"Oh, dear, I would say, not," laughed the duchess heartily. "I _hardly_ make any enemies, I do believe!"

"On the contrary, I find she makes enemies _very easily,_" muttered Ciel darkly, as they make their way towards the gates of the palaces. He turned around to see all four (cat included) snickering at him, and pretending to be nonchalant when he noticed. "_What,"_ he growled.

"Nothing," said Sebastian. "The Young Master certainly does not want to live on hot milk like a puppy for the rest of his life," he chuckled.

"What was that!" protested Asteria with a laugh. "An inside joke that I haven't heard? Do tell!"

"Sebastian, growled Ciel, "_I forbid you to mention that ever again. Ever."_

"Certainly_,_ my Lord."

"…"

"Haha." That was Asteria.

"Meow-wee-wuu."

* * *

"So what do you think of the case, Countess?" inquired Ciel, after they were properly settled down in the comfort of his sitting room.

"I was about to ask you the same thing, Earl, interestingly," said Asteria. "Oh!" She clapped her hands as if suddenly reminded of something. "How about we play a game - we'll write our ideas on our palms, and show each other on the count of three. Then we really know if we're thinking the same things." She smiled slightly. "Are you on?"

Ciel considered, and sighed, "Fine. But I'll use paper, thank you."

"One – two – _three!_" Sebastian counted, and both turned their palm and paper respectively to face each other.

Ciel's mouth curled. Both had scribbled one word, three letters: _tea._


	4. Chapter 4

**Another new chapter! Reminders that there was new content added to Chapter 3 that is crucial to the development of events. /readthatfirst. **

**Please review as well thank you :)**

"Home for the weekend!" Edward Midford called up from the entrance hall of the mansion, even though he knew well his sister and parents might not hear. "Liz! Mother, Father!"

"Nice armour, that."

"Yes, it had belonged to my great-great grandfather," replied Edward proudly. "Leader of all knights, of course." He fingered the crisply shiny metallic pieces of the ornament greeting the guest in the entrance hall, fondly. His family name, and the highest ranks of nobility that came with it – the noblest of the noble – carried a great weight in Edward's heart; for generation after generation, the Midfords were the ones bearing the work of defending the country and defending it well. And that work took more than bravery as well; it was about carefully thought-through strategies, determined resourcefulness, and above all _sacrifice_. Edward understood that perfectly; he also understood that someday, the title of the "Leader of Knights" would be his, like a halo crushing in its weight.

Swordsman, statesman, general. Marquis. He was ready.

"Edward!" called Lizzie, as he came to the foot of the grand staircase. His little sister wasbounding down the mansion stairs in flusters of laced skirts and blonde ringlets. In that bright March afternoon, with gentle sunlight of spring streaming in through the French windows, she made a pretty picture: the slender figure with its slight curves flattered by careful choice of tailoring and the play of light and shadows on the cloth; the charming face with its wide, dimpled smile and lively green eyes, embroidered by dark lashes; and, above all, the unbounded, uncontainable energy and happiness that radiated out from her, making the whole room seem brighter like a cute little second sun.

Edward smiled. His sister was the one thing he would die, kill, whatever – to protect.

"Ed-" At this moment a young man emerged from the entrance hall, finally, after examining wondrously the age-old armour. He looked up, and was struck.

Lizzie slowed down from the act of embracing Edward, checked by surprise in the presence of a stranger. She looked him over in a few summative glances; rather short and stout, neat honey-coloured curls, face lined by a square jaw made wide now with a beam; kindly chestnut eyes. Altogether a very elder-brotherly type of person, Lizzie decided.

"Let me do the introductions," said Edward grandly. He gestured towards Lizzie, "My sister, Elizabeth, and this – Claus Diedrich, my classmate; his father is _the_ Earl Diedrich," here Edward paused for some sort of reaction from Lizzie. Lizzie stared at him blankly. "Wait, wait – you _have_ heard of him, haven't you?" Edward adjourned anxiously.

Claus laughed and waved, dismissing Edward's concern. "Oh, Edward, doesn't matter –"

"In charge of foreign affairs, Earl Diedrich," Edward persisted resolutely. "A chief crisis manager of the country, indispensable statesman and a crucial persona in the Empire….C'mon, Liz, he was all through the papers! Surely you…know?" Edward's accusation trailed off weakly to a question mark.

Lizzie thought hard. "Uhm, was he Daddy's friend?

Edward sighed in resignation. "Yes, well, if that's the only way you remember. Came to our house once or twice, and we always see him at Christmas."

"Oh!" squealed Lizzie with sudden realization. "–Uncle Klaus, isn't it?"

"Correct!" said Edward loudly with relief.

Lizzie clapped her hands excitedly. "Well _then _I know! Your father (turning to Claus) is a close family friend of the Phantomhives too, is he? I've heard Ciel talking about him once or twice…"

"Why do you always _have_ to mention that arrogant little snothead," muttered Edward darkly.

"Ciel Phantomhive?" asked Claus. The name rang a bell. Snatches of conversation with his father surfaced, from which _Phantomhive_ reeked of danger and evilness, things that could not be spoken. "You know him?"

"He's my fiancé," said Lizzie happily.

She did not notice, but the two faces in front of her instantly darkened. The word "fiancé" seemed to linger in the air, casting about uncomfortable silences, pained realizations and awkward fantasies.

Edward was the first to speak, after he managed at long last to suppress disgusted and disgruntled expressions, "Where's Father and Mother, anyway?"

"Father had an errand to another country," Lizzie reported. "Mother went along to help as well. They've left for quite a few days already. I was so lonely!" She pulled a long, sad face.

Edward frowned, struck with worry. Overseas missions were always dangerous; hardly once had Father returned without suffering injuries of some sort. A few times he had been fatally wounded, and was snatched from the teeth of death with the miraculous aid of the greatest noble doctor and teams of top royal physicians. Even when he escaped unscathed, Marquis Midford was always deeply depressed by these missions, remaining moody and uncommunicative for days. Edward crossed his fingers; this had better turned out well.

Claus sensed the change in the atmosphere, a sorrow in which he had no part. "Well," he said gaily, "A gentleman must take care of all the needs of a lady; in this case, Miss Elizabeth's loneliness. Actually, I am hosting a tea-party at our mansion two days after, on April 2nd; a small, private affair between friends." He bowed gallantly towards Lizzie. "Miss Elizabeth, and her fiancé as well, are most cordially invited."

"Oh, how wonderful!" cried Lizzie. "That's really sweet of you, Master Claus."

"Hey, what about me," complained Edward.

"You could come too, I guess," said Claus dismissively, and grinned.

* * *

"Three things," said Earl Phantomhive, holding up three fingers authoritatively. "First – the _tea._ Immediately suspicious."

"The only thing served from the kitchen that could be differentiated, as each royalty has his own preferred flavours," agreed Asteria.

"Indeed – although each victim has their own tea provisions within their living quarters, the tea that is served with meals comes from the kitchen, under beverages section. The distinct smell of tea, and of a great diversity, catering to different persons' tastes no doubt, caught me the instant we entered the kitchen," continued Ciel.

"Walker," said Sebastian. "The man who serves beverages."

Fainche emitted a silky growl. "She said, she never liked him from the start," translated Asteria, absentmindedly. She started at the surprised look in the others' faces. "Well, it wasn't that hard to understand. We knew each other for a long time."

"We can't be sure it is him though," said Sebastian, "Anyone in the kitchen could have accessed the beverages, while they were lying around waiting to be served."

"Exactly." said Ciel, "which is also why, on the way to visit the victims, I asked Sebastian to pay special attention to the tea drank by each member of the royalty."

Sebastian bowed. "You were right to say the royalty's taste for tea would be impeccable, Young Master. Each victim drinks tea that was of distinctly species, and, if I may presume to say, specially aligned with their personalities. Princess Helena takes refined white tea of Asian origins; I observed that her personal teapot was not filled but newly washed, and kept meticulously clean. Judging by that the time of our visit was near noon, she must have taken tea with her breakfast, and will do so in the afternoon too from what she said, yet apparently not in between. The state of cleanliness of the teapot shows a detachment from tea-drinking itself; it was left to be taken care of just like every other possession. We may assume she has regular and, well, average, tea-drinking habits.

"Prince Leopold is a different story altogether. Even while stranded abed as an invalid, his teapot was still filled. It held Chinese Pu-er tea for the time being; yet aromas from the teapot itself indicated a rather wider variety of tea that was regularly taken. Prince Leopold is in fact a fond, even ardent tea-drinker. A few areas of the teapot were stained yellow, for example the edges under the lid; showing the teapot was overused, for royalty standards. Yet the prince would not throw it away, for the simple reason that it was a piece of white porcelain antique from Qing dynasty China, worth millions of pounds by auction. His butler's words that the prince took tea with every meal also corroborate our judgment."

"His symptoms were the most severe," murmured Ciel. "Continue."

"Duchess Louise, ah, she was interesting," mused Sebastian. "Delicate Darjeeling black tea, with lots of milk and sugar added. The first glance shows her teapot to be averagely clean, almost like that of the princess's; yet on second look, I observed she had more than one teapot that was in use; a whole cupboard full of them, in fact. So she was either a collector, or a very fickle woman. I would imagine her tea-drinking habits to be as capricious and immoderate as well."

"She told us the last thing she drank was milk," recalled Ciel.

"I believe she could have taken anything before that, including tea," assured Sebastian. "She was not a woman retained by customs. The culprit just had to wait for chance to dictate when his work would take effect, for this case."

"That was certainly extremely helpful," said Ciel. "Thank you, Sebastian."

He turned his eye to Asteria and just noticed the droop of her jaw. "You've been rather quiet," observed Ciel, highly amused.

"Wow," Asteria shook her head. "That was…._detailed_. Now how come I didn't catch you poking into people's cupboards and smelling their teapots?" she said accusingly.

Ciel merely smiled. Fainche meowed in admonition and swished her tail against Asteria's arm. _I caught it, I saw, you idiot_.

Asteria stroked Fainche's back absent-mindedly, trying hard to recall. "_Wait!_ On the corridor, outside the kitchens…..you were asking Sebastian to learn tea-making skills from the royalty!" she exclaimed. "You meant….you were asking him to investigate, then?" Yes, surely, because there had been no other time; from the start of investigation till now, she, Asteria, had been by their side, and had heard no outright instruction from the master to do anything. And the Phantomhive butler certainly required order from his master to proceed, that was a pattern she had caught onto by now. "But….why so covert?"

Ciel exchanged a look with Sebastian. _This girl _had_ a fast memory._ "Sebastian could investigate freely because he was generally unnoticed," he explained smoothly. "The more people that were aware, the more attention would be drawn to his actions; I don't exactly trust Milton much to keep something secret either, if you could tell. And we don't want that kind of attention, of course."

"And the reason for that is?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, we're officially onto this case right? So what if we let loose that we're on the right track?"

"That's pertaining to the second thing I was talking about." Ciel held up his second finger. "Which is the _dates_. Don't you notice something about the dates of poisoning?"

"Nineteenth, twenty-fifth, twenty-ninth," recalled Asteria. "Sort of regular, you mean?"

"Exactly five days apart, in fact, discounting the twenty-fifth which was one day later," said Ciel. "_Why would a criminal want to commit his crimes regularly?"_

"He wants to convey a message….or, because he couldn't do otherwise," followed Asteria.

"Precisely. But not only that." Ciel closed his eyes. "Her Majesty asked me to investigate the case on the twenty-sixth, by letter. The Yard was called in on that day as well, as two cases of poisoning could no longer be discounted as a normal illness. Yet another case had occurred after that, the one with the Duchess. Meaning the criminal does not care about investigations. Meaning his business was still as yet unfinished. And also meaning, _we still have a chance to catch him at it."_

Asteria's mouth curled into a smile. "Perfect. We've already sorted out his method of administering poison, the location and the date, more or less. So that's why you don't want other people to know – to put him off guard." She paused, and chuckled. "Plop he goes, into the trap – _easy_."

"We'll know even more details, no doubt, with work in these few days," Ciel assured her with a glint of slyness in the blueness of his eye.

Asteria applauded mockingly. "So what's the third brilliant discovery, Earl?"

"I never said discovery," correct Ciel sleekly. "Only _things to note. _The third thing is the rumours. The public almost got firsthand knowledge of the poisonings, in real time, which was impossible given the tight hold the Queen had on these information. Which leads to one conclusion," Ciel paused. "This is a crime purposely defames the royalty. And _whoever who starts the rumours, is the culprit._"

The statement so rang with finality, that a little silence was invoked under the sitting room ceilings, in the bright March afternoon. All of them suddenly noticed the sunlight which streamed in through the glass like honeyed gold, and the shrilly elated bird cries from the gardens.

When Ciel spoke his voice was quiet. "Sebastian. Investigate the schedules of the kitchen personnel – also anything special that happened on the nineteenth, twenty-fifth and twenty-ninth. And check if Lau is acting diligently on sourcing the rumours."

Sebastian bowed and smiled. "Oh, I'm quite sure he is, Young Master. But you must allow him time. Tracking from one person to another is arduous work, you understand."

"I don't care. You know that," replied Ciel coldly.

He realized Asteria was casting a strange look at him. Turning to the butler, she said, very sweetly, "Why, thank you, Sebastian. You have been a tremendous help, and must have worked very hard. _Some people_," she stressed, "should appreciate it more."

Ciel rolled his eyes. _If only she knew who – or what – she's facing, right now. _Strangely enough, he didn't seem to be the only one harbouring these thoughts. Asteria's cat, Fainche, was rolling her amber eyes so hard they became nothing more than pale patches of milky lemon, and her claws were itching to scratch the girl on her arm.

Sebastian bowed gallantly, "It's my job, dear Countess. I am, after all," he straightened, and smirked at Ciel out of the corner of his mouth, "just one hell of a butler."

* * *

At first glance it seemed like the inside of a dimmed, eroded cathedral. Archaic Roman steps of cracked stone were darkened with moss and groups of furtive, shrouded people. The steps led down to a singular rectangular pit in the centre, over which a crystal chandelier hung with candle buds shone; on top of that was a narrow slit of a skylight, unwillingly filtering in sunlight from the dusk outside. Giant iron cages were illuminated, from out of which eyes glittered with fear. An ancient stone slab lay in the middle, scribbled over with age-old symbols and shapes. Groups of hunched elders in the pit were polishing quaintly-shaped knives, stone flasks and branding irons.

"Ding – ding –" The clinking sound of a metal triangle resonated back and forth in the enclosed sphere, and the hustle stilled. All attention was drawn to the hunched figure in the middle of the pit, firmly ringing the metal triangle. His face was shrouded in shadow and a long, yellow-white beard trailed thinly from his chin.

He stopped banging on the triangle, threw his arms wide, and let the last trembling echoes die away.

"Welcome, believers," he said, holding out his hands, in a voice as thin and spindly as he himself. "Welcome to the Assembly of this month. Time after time, we meet here in this holy place, to offer sacrifices, to call for and to hear from our one and only – Lord. _We rise above all in our faith,_"

"_With blood, and flesh, we reveal the truth."_ The crowd chanted in response.

He cleared his throat. "Before we start on the rituals proper, we have news to share. The Royal family," he announced in a voice suddenly expanded in eerie grandness, "_has been cursed_. Three members had suffered this curse, and -" his eyes grew huge and hypnotizing, "_more will come._"

Whispers scattered among the audience. "The Royalty is paying for all the wrongs it committed!" "Pray, pray, not to anger the Lord!" "Cursed, cursed royalty….it will not last long…."

The elder in the centre clicked his tongue, his sharp eyes watching keenly the response. "Ah, yes, more will come," he murmured darkly. "Beware," He raised his eyes to the skylight and the chandelier. "Beware."

Then he rang the triangle again; its sound, seeming to have a spirit of its own, drained away hushed human voices and mortal thoughts with every trembling, resonating _ding_.

"Next," he announced slowly, to an absolute silence, "The Noble Knight will grace us with a visit, soon. Very soon. He shall, himself," he raised his voice, "execute our ritual!"

"Ah, the Noble Knight!" "What an honour!"

"Indeed," said the elder, "We're blessed_, blessed_ to have him, charming young man, to support our work in the improvement of mankind. We're greatly indebted to him….with him our rituals become so much easier….." he glanced swiftly at the cages, rough thick strips of darkness barring out human suffering and raw fear. "Yes, so much easier now."

"And now!" he said, his spindly voice suddenly rising until such echoes swelled that without the triangle, the crowd was awed to silence. "_It's time."_


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi I'm back again! Been busy for the past months...hope I can still pick up the story where I left it. well.**

It was night; Ciel had persuaded Asteria to stay for dinner, and the guest(s) had just left into the foggy dark night. In his large leather armchair, Ciel held his chin between locked fingers and listened carefully to the rattle of horses' hooves signaling the carriage pulled away into the distance. Sebastian stood slightly apart, going through some age-old accounts.

When nothing could be detected from outside except the rush of the fog, Ciel said brusquely, "Sebastian, stop pretending as if you have some business in those rubbish. Come here."

"Why, Young Master, are you insinuating that the economy of the house is nothing of importance?" replied Sebastian, raising an eyebrow as he obediently put down the accounts ledgers.

"Economy of the house – right," said Ciel sarcastically, "You know, the role of the housewife doesn't become you."

"Of course not," said Sebastian smoothly. "Ah! The woman of the household; that would be Lady Elizabeth's role to fill. I do, however, wonder sometimes what the Phantomhive accounts would look like when she takes over; I imagine it'd become a great deal more colourful."

"Remind me why we're on the topic of my fiancée again?" asked Ciel. "I was asking you about the progress of the _real _investigation."

"Very well," Sebastian sifted over a stack of yellowed records to Ciel's desk. "Asteria Valnagh – born 1877, only daughter of Count Valnagh, heir on its line of nobility. The Valnaghs are an ancient line of nobility which traces back to the royalty in old Germany. Also worthy to be noted is that the Valnaghs have, for centuries, been heading secret scientific investigations in various fields, under the Queen's direct instructions and exempt from the Great Britain Law. This was also a reason why they were called in rumours, 'the white mice of Queen Victoria'." Sebastian glanced at Ciel; no doubt the word "lapdog" surfaced instantly in both of their minds. "Thus, besides normal academic instructions, Asteria had since young been receiving special training in scientific experimentation and invention. She seems to have developed an early flair in weapons; this newspaper clipping showed her invention of bolt thrust cannons which reduces the amount of blowback and gunpowder wastage, at the age of ten." Sebastian paused, pushing forth a news report which was almost crumpled to pieces. The photograph showed a ten-year-old girl that was clearly the younger version of Asteria, though indescribably different.

"Hmm," said Ciel, glossing over the technical terms in the article. "Moving on."

"Well, when Asteria was twelve – in the year 1889, that was – it appeared that her family moved to Belgium. Here comes the interesting part; in the space of these five years, there was not a single correspondence delivered from Britain to the Valnaghs, not from their closest relatives and friends; all records of posts have been checked. Even correspondence with the Queen was nil, even though presumably the move to Belgium was on a mission of the Queen's."

"Would the Queen use public post, though?" mused Ciel.

"That was certainly part of the consideration," assured Sebastian. "But I can't imagine the Queen, nor the Valnaghs, dispatching a messenger every single time they wanted to communicate. Normally there were bound to be _some_ public post deliveries. Unless, of course, they owled."

Ciel stared at him. "Are you taking me for an idiot?"

"I assure you that is a possible option. In fact, don't Your Highness remember the case of the murder in the house, when I had sent an owl to Father Jeremy Rathbone?" said Sebastian very politely.

"I don't wish to remember at all," scowled Ciel. "So is that all?"

"Besides this, there was also _no landed property in Belgium at all under the name Valnagh_. Very strange, unless they had taken a pseudonym, which seems unlikely since they were under direction of the Queen and were acting as the ambassadors of Britain of sorts. There was also no conceivable record of any unusual scientific discovery or invention that took place in Belgium in that span of time. That led me to question whether at all the Valnaghs had moved to Belgium. The fact of the move was announced by the Queen, in passing, to related nobilities; it seems that no one else had known before that, and the close friends of the Valnaghs were for a while completely at a loss as to where they were gone."

"So it was like they just disappeared from earth," murmured Ciel. "Completely evaporated, if not for the Queen's clarifications."

He tapped his fingers on the desk silently. "So I may assume no records of the deaths of the former Count and Countess were found since no other records exist anyway?"

"None at all," reported Sebastian.

"And how had Lady Asteria made her return?"

"That is another interesting part, interesting because it was so normal, so _expected_: train ticket, first-class, from Belgium capital Brussels direct to London. Under the name Asteria Valnagh. Alone with luggage. That was all."

"Returned, on the nineteenth," murmured Ciel.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Young Master suspects that Asteria was involved in the poison case," it was a statement, not a question.

"The date was indicative."

"It could have been coincidental."

"The Queen asked me to investigate her," said Ciel. "Even if the date itself was coincidental, the fact that _the Queen wrote to me pointing out this coincidence_ means there is no coincidence." He stared emotionlessly at Sebastian for about a minute, completely silent. Sebastian could almost hear his brain churning, coolly weighing out options.

"You invite her to investigate so as to keep an eye on her."

Ciel smiled humourlessly. "Not only that. To obtain her trust – keep her off guard – and then, plop!" he mimicked what Asteria said, just a couple of hours ago. "Catching her would be _easy_." He turned his eye, a dark gleaming contemptuous sapphire in the firelight, onto Sebastian. "Now you may go."

As Sebastian turned out of the door, Ciel asked suddenly, "Wait – what about the cat?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"That Persian cat. How did she get that? Is there anything with that cat at all?"

"I assure you I have no idea, Young Master," replied Sebastian. "But I do think," he turned to leave, and at the moment half his face was dressed in darkness. "That cat is every bit as devilish as it appears to be."

* * *

"Well, it's been an interesting day," said Fainche, sitting cross-legged on Asteria's dressing table, combing out carefully her wavy white hair.

"The case sure was suspenseful," agreed Asteria from her lying position on the bed.

"The case!" scoffed Fainche. "Who do you think you're kidding? You don't care two-pence about the case. It _was_ convenient that Ciel Phantomhive cooked up your excuse in time – I can totally see how food poisoning is related to narcotic firearms race."

"Yes, he sure was kind and considerate," smirked Asteria. "If only he _were_, it would have made his intentions less obvious."

"Oh?" mused Fainche, examining her nails.

"Ciel Phantomhive," declared Asteria, "does not simply lets a cousin meddle in his work. There's definitely something."

A hint of a smile crept up the corners of Fainche's lips. "I ask you again, are you sure you do not want to know about that black butler?"

Asteria rolled her eyes. "How about _you just tell me_. Like how normal girls chats about her crushes, you know? Like, we could just talk, casually?"

"Again, he's not my crush," said Fainche calmly. She stretched and yawned, her white hair rippling out behind her. "Suit yourself." She curled up like a cat and her hair draped over her body smoothly, and in a flash a large, dozing Persian cat laid in her place.

Asteria shook her head. She had other more important things to think about than a weird butler. It was fine that Ciel Phantomhive wanted to find out more about her; there were a few things she would like to know more about him as well.

* * *

"Market," said Sebastian. "Every five days, to source for more uncommon ingredients and exotic foodstuff."

"I can't believe it," Asteria shook her head slightly. "_That's it_?"

"A market," commented Ciel. "Is a deceptively simple place. An innocent setting that may conceal many dark forces at work; I've encountered those numerously myself. Actually, it does sound like the best explanation."

"The kitchen staff went to market on the nineteenth, twenty-fourth and twenty-ninth," continued Sebastian. "Discounting Prince Leopold whose poisoning, on the twenty-fifth, was out of the pattern, it fits perfectly."

"So who went on the market trips on these days?" asked Ciel.

"That's interesting; they were all different people. Indeed, there seems to be a practice of rotating turns for each market day, on which three members of staff will go; it is considered a treat I believe. On the three trips we're interested in, the people who went were completely different – not even one repeating."

"Nine staff members exactly, counting the Head," Asteria raised an eyebrow.

_Absolutely outstanding memory. _Exchanging a look with Ciel, Sebastian turned to Asteria. "Yes, Lady Asteria, that precisely."

"So you mean the Head Chef goes himself as well?"

"Is there a problem with that?" asked Ciel.

"No," shrugged Asteria. "But I do believe that is not the normal practice for most of other workplaces. Based on what we saw the other day, Head Chef Dupont wields pretty much total authority over the kitchen. He is not the sort of person I would expect to like to go to the markets with all his other subordinates."

"Well, speaking of that, Dupont does go to market less frequently and a lot more irregularly, according to the records," agreed Sebastian. Ciel glanced at him momentarily.

_What are you up to with your lies? Trying to lure her now?_

_Just testing waters, my master._ Sebastian's eye reassured.

"So I think we are agreeable that we might be dealing with more than one criminal here?" suggested Ciel, and that statement somehow carried weight.

"That seems the most likely," agreed Asteria. "And top on our list of suspects, I would believe, are Dupont and Walker."

Fainche swished her tail delicately across Asteria's arm. _You're making yourself more suspicious._

Asteria smoothed her fur quietly. _I want to see how far, and where, they're taking me._

"No," said Ciel, considering. "In this situation, it seems more likely that someone else is trying to frame Walker, him being the beverages person."

"No," said Asteria, considering deeply as well, "I guess you're right. But we must not strike Walker off our list. It may be that after further investigations, he would appear to be the least suspicious, which may suit his intentions."

"Everyone in the kitchen are, and remain, on our list, Lady Asteria," said Sebastian.

"Pardon my amateurism, but it appears to me that we should always have an emphasis for investigation," said Asteria.

Ciel's mouth curled. _She's making herself too obvious. I wonder why she wants to play with us this way. Sebastian._

_She is a smart girl, _agreed Sebastian with a small bow of his head and a gleam in his ruby eyes.

"Today is the first," said Ciel, slowly. "Shall we check out this market these two days? And then, on the third…"

"We _ambush_," smiled Asteria. "Ooh – sounds exciting."

"You have a meeting with company executives tomorrow morning, Young Master, as well as a tea-party in the afternoon with Earl Dietrich," reminded Sebastian.

"Oh, I'm going to that party too, by the way," remarked Asteria.

Ciel's jaw tightened in the face of useless social gatherings taking up precious time. "Well then, could we arrange to visit the market today?"

"Definitely, Young Master; now, if you wish."

"Shall we go at once, then?"

* * *

"KA-BOO!" grinned a gigantic jack-in-the-box as it leapt out of the seemingly innocent wooden crate and spewed confetti all over the visitors. "Best tricks for fools! Two for half a pound!" yelled the peddler, into Ciel's face. "Boy, you want one? Best tricks for Fool's Day!"

"I should say _not_," said Ciel, brushing himself off primly. His jaw muscle twitched in restrained irritation; Asteria giggled.

"It seems as if we have not chosen the best day to visit the market, my Lord," said Sebastian smoothly. "In our investigations we have forgotten that today, first April, is an occasion warranting celebrations in the commoner world." The faintest curl coloured his lip.

"Oh, you have forgotten, haven't you?" growled Ciel darkly. "You have forgotten, too, I see, the fact that _you do not forget?_" he grimaced as a troupe of urchins nearby demonstrated the use of a water-filled trumpet-like pipe by loudly and enthusiastically blowing into it, spurting the contents everywhere. "You will get back for this absurd venture, Sebastian," mutters Ciel darkly.

The well-dressed trio and cat walked, an unfitting cadence of elegance, quietly down the filthy and raucous alley, eliciting many stares and in fact seeming to dampen the spirit of their surroundings by a few degrees wherever they passed. Ciel was, however, oblivious to all these, accustomed as he was to attention. He was focused on examining the stalls of the valley, many of which are exotic enough.

This was not one of the main markets of London; the royal kitchen had specialized staff to import the general foodstuff from there. Found in an almost secluded cluster of alleys bordering the East End, this market was small and dingy, reeking of must and mystery. This is where the rarest and the most exquisite could be found, alongside with the darkest and the filthiest, and sometimes these two went together; but only by those who looked. The party walked and saw the market in high glee celebrating the April Fool's, yet its secrets were keenly guarded at the same time.

There were old women huddled over dusty glass spheres, cackling with delight as the girl selling paper flowers across the street received their gift of a tarot card, and was unable to pry her fingers off it; there were darkly painted women guarding cages of glittering lizards, snakes and what looked like their hybrid, slyly sending a few slithering across to the neighbouring stall, presided over by a jovial looking Italian man, which sold everything from astrolabes to bowler hats; there were cups of tea, of diverse hues and shades, masterfully dealt out by a gaunt Chinese smelling strongly of opium, who just handed over one cup to his neighbor the fiddler, who sipped and obviously found it not quite right. Ciel nodded at this tea-shop and they entered.

The Chinese greeted them with an arch of his eyebrows and a flourish of his teapot. "Tea for four, misters?"

"No, thank you," said Ciel, eyeing the suspicious black stuff over which the fiddler was now choking. "Could we ask a few questions?"

The tea-shop owner stared. "I don't speak English," he deadpanned.

Asteria looked at him inquiringly, as if asking _is this person serious?_ But Sebastian tugged Ciel's sleeve. "Master, remember arsenal. It is highly unlikely that the royalty would not taste the difference had tea came from here."

Ciel raised his eyebrows. "It's alright then, thank you."

The owner flourished the teapot again. "Tea for four, misters?"

They walked on, silently, down the alley, seeking out stalls which the royal kitchen staff likely had visited. Herbs and spices, dried fruits and meat, winery and chocolatiers; exasperation was starting to cloud even Ciel's brow. "The problem," observed Asteria, "is that we don't really know what we're looking for."

"The smell of suspicion is uncommonly pervasive, and difficult to pinpoint," agreed Sebastian.

"Meow," purred Fainche.

"Not to mention that the April Fool's celebrations don't help," said Ciel sarcastically, with a sidelong look at his butler. "I think we would need to accompany the kitchen staff on their excursion on the 3rd."

Asteria smiled. "Oh, really? I could think of a better method."

* * *

Choo lifted his eyes from the tea and said to nobody in particular, "They're gone."

"You dockhead." A voice detached itself from the darkness of the interior of the teashop, crisp and methodical. "They suspect you."

"Oh no they don't," retorted Choo, though his eyes flashed uncertainly for a moment.

"You said 'four'," continued the methodical voice calmly. "Tea for four. I wanted to box your ears. _There were only three people_. And you said four. Twice."

"Oops."

"Two of them suspected. The cat and the butler. I," the voice said primly. "_Hate_ how I'm always assigned to train incompetent idiot juniors."

"…"

"I'm talking about you, by the way."

"Fine, sorry. Senpai."


End file.
